


It's a tragedy

by MelindaCoulson4



Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV)
Genre: Angst, F/M, Sacrifice, Sad, phil is the shield
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-03-09
Updated: 2018-07-27
Packaged: 2019-03-29 03:17:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 11,769
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13918245
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MelindaCoulson4/pseuds/MelindaCoulson4
Summary: How do you respond? What do you say when you know you're running into certain death and the woman you love is right in front of you? This is what it means to be the shield. 5x12 speculation.





	1. The Rift

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote this after watching the sneak peek so if you don't want to be spoiled please don't read. 
> 
> When I saw the sneak peak I just about died and this flew out of my brain.

He knew this decision would turn into a blowout fight. Right from the beginning, when Daisy and Fitz ran into the control room and began spewing details about how the kree calling device blew up in the storage room and Noah was now dead. The same storage room that apparently also held three monoliths encased in fiberglass. But what good would fiberglass be against a detonated alien artifact.   
  
Daisy had tapped into the security camera feeds for the room as Fitz went on and on about the implications of anything in that storage room getting out. There were rows upon rows of stored shield tech. Powerful weapons. Decommissioned O84s. Fitz paced back and forth spewing garbled speech, trying to wrap his head around all of the possible things that could be happening in that room. He and Melinda watched Fitz, unable to comprehend the science lingo coming from his mouth.  
  
They all turned towards the image that popped up on the screen before them. It was something completely unimaginable. A glowing blue light hovered in midair at one end of the room. It didn't seem to come from any object. It was just there, floating with the light swirling around haphazardly. He'd seen many things in his lifetime, hundreds of unexplainable, mind boggling things: everything from gravitonium to LMDs to Tahiti to Carl Creel. There was a spectrum of weird that he’d gotten used to. Nothing seemed to surprise him anymore after years of coming into contact with these things. But this left him speechless. It looked like a literal rip in space and time, like a special effect from a sci-fi movie that could never come to fruition.   
  
Daisy switched camera angles.   
  
The next view that they got was of absolute chaos. Metal containers were shaking in place; some were on the ground busted open. Metal shelving units were overturned. Items were zipping past the screen like a twister was ripping through the room. He wondered how that blue light was creating all of this disruption.

Something else caught his eye. There was movement along the left side of the screen. It appeared that there were shadows moving quickly in and out of the camera feed. But as he looked closer his heart truly dropped into his stomach. The shadows took on a distinct shape. There was no doubt in his mind of what they were: people.  
  
_There were people in that room._  
   
They watched completely entranced as someone ran past the screen, going so fast Phil could only make out a blur of movement. Another one moved to the right side of the feed and this time the camera picked up more detail. A woman stood there with dark hair, a black jacket, jeans, and boots. He couldn’t make out anything significant or familiar about her. There was no clue as to who she was or how she ended up in there. Another figure appeared. This time a man, obviously distressed with his arms waving wildly. He grabbed the woman by the elbow and they both took off running. They appeared to be normal, but they were clearly terrified of something other than the floating blue light in the room.  
  
That's when they saw a familiar face flash across the video feed.   
  
“This can’t be real,” Daisy gasped.  
  
The wild black hair. The misshapen forehead. The distinct massive body.  
  
_It was Lash._  
  
All of the evidence was right there in front of them, illuminated by the bright cerulean blue light. But he still couldn’t wrap his mind around it. It was impossible. Lash was dead. Andrew was dead. Daisy had been with him when he died. May had seen the body. There was no way he could be here, alive and in this timeline, right now. And yet they could all clearly see him stomping around the area and moving in and out of the video frame.   
  
He caught Melinda's gaping stare out of the corner of his eye. He couldn't imagine what was running through her head.  
  
"I may be able to get ears in there...," Daisy trailed off as she rapidly typed on the keyboard.   
  
He almost objected, unsure if he even wanted to hear any horrible sounds coming out of that room.  
  
At first, there was a deafening silence and then the sounds of destruction: crunching metal, items banging around, winds whipping.     
  
Just when he was beginning to think it wasn’t so bad, the screams began. The bloodcurdling type of screams that momentarily freeze the body in place just on instinct alone. Ones that make the brain say: someone is about to die. It accessed the primal part of the brain and caused the heart to accelerate, knees to weaken, and shivers to run in waves through all four limbs. In his case, all three limbs, the robotic forearm and hand being the exception.   
  
All of those people, who even knew how many were in there, would be slaughtered by Lash. Hell, it most likely was already happening right now by the sounds of those screams. Lash was a beast- an unstoppable force of pure strength.    
  
He knew right then that someone would have to go in and assess the damage. Those people were nothing but innocent civilians trapped in that room. They could be people from the future, the past, another universe, a different dimension. They could've come from anywhere. He couldn't let them stay there in the room where no logic existed.   
  
There was no doubt in his mind that if they let whatever was happening in that room continue to develop, hell would rain down upon them all. If something so powerful was somehow released into the world there may not be a world left after that. An extinction level event would occur. Maybe this was where the end began. Maybe this was why the Earth cracked apart. Maybe it had nothing to do with Daisy. Either way, someone had to fix the problem.  
  
Someone would have to find a way to lead everyone to safety and get the monoliths contained. He knew there was no other choice but himself. Who better to go storming into a room full of nightmares than a man who had a nightmare spreading inside of him already- one that would kill him any day now. He was a ticking time bomb. If he died in that room it wouldn't be a sacrifice. It would merely be the universe speeding up the inevitable.   
  
So when he opened his mouth and shared his plan to go in alone everyone else took that as an invitation to yell out reasons why they should be the one to accompany him.   
  
_I know what Lash is capable of!  
  
I am the only one with an actual scientific background to deal with the monoliths!  
  
I can solve the problem!  
  
Oh really? And what equipment would you use?  
  
You don’t even have your powers.  
  
He was my husband!  
  
You're not seriously using that as a reason.   
  
None of you understand the gravity of this situation!   
  
You'll be killed in an instant!  
  
I am the engineer here!   
  
You'd be way in over your head. I'm going.  
_  
On and on they argued. Daisy, Melinda, and Fitz shouted at each other for a full five minutes. He had a sneaking suspicion that he could've vacated the room and they would've been none the wiser. But he couldn't take the risk of any of them trying to follow him.   
  
He'd laid it out clear and dry. None of them were expendable. Only one person had to go in and that person would be him.   
  
They all froze and stared at him in complete shock, not quite believing what he was saying.   
  
He found it easier to turn away in that moment, to flee before they gained their senses back. But of course Daisy stepped in his way before he could get anywhere. She told him that he couldn't go in alone and asked him why he had to be the one to go.   
  
He ignored the question. She didn't need to know about the sickness inside of him. None of them needed to know. Instead, he'd turned it back on her and told her why she had to stay. He told her that she was the future of shield. She had a knack for inspiring people and he said that was why she would become the next leader.  
  
And that's how they ended up here, arguing in this moment.   
  
"To lead what? To inspire who?" She snaps with a shake of her head, not quite grasping what he has been telling her.   
  
"Shield. There's an idea....a symbol. That must continue," he explains. She is everything that shield stands for. He saw it right from the beginning. She's a leader: innovative, passionate, and intelligent- the ideal replacement to become director of shield. If anyone were to rise up and take the reins he would want it to be her.   
  
"There is no shield!" She screams adamantly.   
  
Technically, she's right. There is no base of operations. No director. No army of agents. There's only the seven of them (not including Deke) in their core group. The extraordinary people that he's chosen to surround himself with. They have all become shield. They've carried the burdens: not having families or personal lives. The losses: Rosalind, Andrew, Lincoln, Mace, Tripp, Hunter, Bobbi, and now Talbot. The heartache: Bahrain, Daisy's parents, Ward's betrayal, Melinda's captivity and subsequent replacement. The trauma: being dropped in the ocean, losing a hand, being killed and brought back, being responsible for Mace's death, Mack losing a daughter in the framework, Jemma stuck on an alien planet, and most recently Yo-Yo losing both arms. Year after year they've suffered in the name of protection, justice, and truth. Person after person being bombarded by unimaginable obstacles. Yet each one of them has risen to the occasion to carry on shield's message.   
  
"This is shield. Right here! Every person in the bunker is shield. You are all needed to keep it going!" He will not allow anyone else to die. No one else will go in with him. They are all needed. This world needs them.  
  
All of them: Fitz, Simmons, Melinda, Daisy, Mack, and Yo-Yo. They all bring something unique to the table. Each person has a specific skillset that no one else possesses. Together they make the perfect team. They represent the shield.   
  
"And what...you're not needed then?" Daisy asks incredulously, arms crossing over her chest.   
  
_I don't have a choice_ , he opens his mouth ready to fire back, and then snaps back to reality. He can't say. He can't give her an answer.   
  
He refuses to tell them about his imminent demise. It would only make things worse.  
  
He sighs heavily. She's backed him into a corner, which makes him equally frustrated and proud of her. And just like that she’s validated what he’s been saying, becoming the leader that he sees within her. Never backing down from a fight. Always trying to save everyone (except herself). She's never shied away from a challenge. If she believes something is wrong, she speaks up. That particular trait now impedes his escape but still, he appreciates her concern.   
  
He knows they can't waste anymore time arguing. The outcome will be the same no matter what she says. He is going into that room unaccompanied to fix whatever the hell the problem is. He'll eliminate the threat no matter what the cost.   
  
"I am needed right now to go in that room and if a sacrifice needs to be made then that's what will happen. I am going in...alone. End of discussion!" He orders, cutting off all of their rebuttals.   
  
He catches Daisy's flinch, Fitz's raised eyebrows, and Melinda's devastation.   
  
He storms off before Daisy can get another word in, swiping his icer and holster off of the table nearest to the screens on his way out.  
  
Before even thinking about entering the storage room he stops by their makeshift armory. It’s one thing to run head first into a situation without backup, but it’s a whole other beast when you have no artillery to aid you. There are multiple rows of various types of guns, grenades, gas masks, goggles, vests, helmets, and shields in here. There are cases of bullets. This armory has everything an agent could dream of having if that agent was living in the 50’s, that is. Unfortunately, nothing has been updated around here. There’s no advanced Fitzsimmons developed and tested tech. They don’t have a stock of icers, which were only created a few years ago. Everything they had was lost in the explosion of their former base. The only icers they had left were the ones that had come from the storage on the zephyr.   
  
He needs something out of this world to help him. He really wishes that bambino was stored somewhere around here. He would definitely appreciate that sort of fire power right about now. There just wasn’t a rule book for this sort of thing. How does one fight an inhuman beast hell-bent on destruction? One who also happens to be the former husband of the woman he’s madly in love with. The thought makes him cringe.  
  
He settles for two grenades. They seem like the most powerful weapons in this armory. As he picks them up, he realizes there is writing stamped on the sides.  
  
_SSR 141849387_ and _SSR141849388_  
  
He feels a spark of boyish excitement reading that, nostalgia overtaking him. He wonders how old this bunker really is. He could spend hours exploring every room, taking in the work of former agents. But he knows he can’t afford to think about that right now. It would only make walking into that room with the blue light, Lash, and three monoliths that much harder.  
  
He shakes the feelings away.

He stuffs the grenades and the three extra bullet clips that he’d snagged from one of cases into a small zipper pouch in his hand.  
  
The storage room is down two floors and on the left side of the hallway three doors down.  
  
He finds the elevator, enters it, and presses the correct floor. It jolts to life almost startling him as he could still feel some of the residual tremors flowing through his legs from the high of his fight with Daisy. The excess adrenaline is still lingering within his body.

 _Don’t think of Daisy now.  
_  
_Better yet, don’t think of anyone. Focus on the mission._  
  
It’s difficult to do so when he’s at a total loss for a plan right now. Talking some sense into Lash is out of the question. Killing him with simple bullets is out of the question. He has no clue. The only thing that makes a bit of sense is to somehow lure Lash back to the monolith that he came from. That’s the big question though. Where the hell did this Lash come from? Some nightmare dimension full of dark terrors he assumes. A place where items like the darkhold originate from.  
  
The doors open as the elevator stops, signaling the arrival of the desired floor. Before moving, he checks and rechecks the chamber in his handgun, reholsters it, then grabs the icer from behind his back and tucks it into the front of his waistband.  _Get in there and do the job_ , he tells himself.  _Pretend it’s just another mission_ , he repeats over and over in his mind.  
  
After taking one last deep breath he steps off of the elevator and begins marching towards his target at the end of the hall on his left.  
  
He only gets five steps before the door to his immediate right swings open and slams against the wall.  
  
A figure steps out and cuts him off.  
  
It’s obvious who it is.  
  
_Melinda._  
  
He doesn’t want to believe that she came down here for him. He wishes she didn’t. He  _really_  wishes she didn’t.   
  
All he can do is stare at her as her chest heaves in an attempt to catch her breath. Her left hand falls against the wall as she braces herself, visibly cringing.

It takes him a few seconds to figure out why. Once he does, concern shoots through his veins. The door that busted open only seconds ago is labeled: STAIRWAY, which means she ran down the stairs to get here in time. She ran on her wounded leg and now she’s in pain. All for the chance to try and stop him.

His teeth clench together at the thought of her rushing to move down the steps, hurting herself in the process. That’s what always seems to happen. She is always getting hurt because of him.  
  
_This will be the last time, though._ He’s not coming back out of that room once he goes in. There are too many things that could go wrong in that room. He can feel the danger in his gut like a sixth sense. It’s the ugly truth that he’s come to accept.   
  
He simply watches Melinda breathe in front of him, unable to come up with a proper sentence.  
  
She looks right back at him, her dark eyes filled with anger. The last time she was this pissed off was when he implied that she was too quick to kill- that she was trigger happy. That ended with her slamming a car door in his face and a silent treatment for three agonizing hours.  
  
The laser focus that she has on him now makes him feel disarmed and bear, like she can see right through him and read each thought that crosses his mind.  
  
_This will be the end of them_ , he thinks and hopes that she’s unable to read that thought.  
  
"So that's it. You're just going to go in there alone and get yourself killed?" she asks as a deep frown forms on her face, concealing the hurt that he knows is just under the surface and threatening to break through.   
  
He sighs. He should've known she wouldn't give up that easily. “Melinda…please.” He doesn't know if he has the emotional strength to deal with this. And he certainly doesn’t want their last moments to be made up of snarls and wounding words. They already have a lifetime supply of those from previous arguments.  
  
She steps closer, pushing off the wall with a closed fist. "Please what? Don't bother you? Don't talk to you? Don't get in your way? Because that's all I feel like I'm doing lately!" She yells as the frustration of the last few days finally comes out. She takes a breath, calming herself. "Do you not want me around anymore?" She swallows thickly.   
  
_No. God, no._ He'd never truly wanted to drive her away. But life had forced his hand. There wasn't a choice here. He _had_ to push her away.   
  
He hangs his head in shame. "No. Of course not. I'm sorry that it seems that way. It wasn't my intention." He never meant to hurt her. He just needed to stay away for his own sanity. He couldn't have her there- always near him, so he lied and made up excuses to keep them apart. If not, he would've broken down and spilled everything.   
  
The muscles in her jaw clench. "It wasn't your intention? Just stop! Why do you keep talking to me like I'm just another agent? I'm....we're...more than that. Just tell me what you really mean. I can't do this anymore, Phil."  
  
Her frustration washes over him and seems to wrap around his legs tugging him down towards the darkness.  
  
He can't do this anymore either. It's slowly sucking the life from him. The constant lying and pretending that he's okay.   
  
It's taking a toll and he just wants it all to end.   
  
But he knows he has a duty to perform. He has to fix this last problem before giving in to the pull of death. Maybe then it will mean something. This way, he won't die pathetically from a heart attack. They won't find him dead in bed or slumped over in a chair. Instead, he'll do this one last thing for them. He'll go out dignified and fighting.   
  
"I need to go in there by myself. I need to know that the team will be safe." He inhales sharply. "I need to know that you'll be safe,” he tells her sincerely as his voice deepens with the pain of everything left unsaid between them.   
  
Her safety means everything. The thought of her in danger is like a lead weight in the pit of his stomach. If Lash got anywhere near her. If the monolith somehow sucked her in like it did to Jemma. If what happened to Yo-Yo happened to Melinda. He wouldn't be able to survive any of that.   
  
She closes the distance between them with a few steps towards him. She stops merely inches from his face. It’s the closest they’ve been in weeks.  
  
"Phil....I need to know you'll be safe." She echoes his words, emphasizing each one as they fall from her trembling lips.

It’s obvious that she knows the reality of this situation. That the chances of his survival are slim to none. She knows what a hard call is. They’ve both seen the aftermaths countless times. The spiral Daisy went into after Lincoln’s sacrifice being the most recent. And what happened in Bahrain being her own personal hard call.  
  
They both know that once he goes in that room he’ll likely never come back out.  
  
Her fingers curl around his leather jacket, clutching it tightly in both hands as tears unashamedly begin rolling down her cheeks.  
  
The sight makes his knees weak as if an arrow has pierced the back of both of legs. It takes everything he has not to collapse in front of her.  
  
Her distress triggers something deep inside of him. He feels his throat turning to stone as he tries to swallow. His nose burns as he fails to hold back his own tears and he knows that this reaction cannot be prevented. There’s no real reason to hide it any longer. He can only be strong for so long, especially with the way she looks now.

The tears continuously fall from her lashes. He can tell that she’s trying to keep them at bay, but now that it’s started she can stop it.

It shakes him to his core because he's never seen her cry like this.  
  
He lifts a shaking hand, trying to be strong for her. His unsteady hand cups her cheek. "Please. Don't cry," he whispers. His thumb gently wipes the wetness away beneath her eye, mindful of the bruising on the side of her face.

Then, he silently begs her to stop making this so hard.  
  
The love that he feels for her pours out of him through his tears. He loves her heart, loves that she would try to stop him from going in that room. It’s just another demonstration of her unwavering devotion.  
  
She gazes up at him, tears still shining in her eyes. Her grip becomes tighter and she tugs at his lapels, making him take a step closer to her, eliminating all space between them. Their bodies now flush against each other. His hips brush her stomach with each breath they take.   
  
There are so many things that he wants to say but nothing seems appropriate now.  
  
Her face inches closer to his and in a blink- before he can process what’s happening, she kisses him, still holding him close to her body.  
  
He wants this to happen, has never wanted anything more in his life. He's never waited for something so long. But, at the same time he knows that this is a terrible decision on his part.  
  
In the end, he’s powerless against it. There's an electric pull between them that can't be fought against. All he can do is let his eyelids close, shutting out the world, as their lips explore each other for the first time.   
  
The first sensation he feels is relief, knowing that this moment is real. She’s real this time. There isn’t an android version playing him. She’s Melinda, flesh and blood. And she chose this all on her own. There was no programming deep inside her brain making her kiss him. It's all her.  
  
After that, there’s an overwhelming sense of warmth as her soft lips seem to caress his. It’s emotional and passionate. He lets it take over as he sinks into their embrace, matching her enthusiasm. He opens his mouth to deepen the kiss. She tilts her head giving him a better angle. They duel back and forth and it becomes somewhat sloppy as they fumble a bit, noses bumping. She sucks on his lower lip. Their tongues tangle together.  
  
All decision making capabilities have been put on pause. As anyone who knows them could’ve guessed, their passion threatens to overrule rational thought. It’s much too easy to lose control when he’s longed for her over the course of the last few decades and now she’s giving him all of her in this moment.  
  
It needs to stop now. He needs to get a grip before it's too late.  
  
Regrettably, he pulls back, knowing that one more second of her would mean defeat. Their lips stick together briefly as they both move slowly away from each other. It uses up all of his remaining strength to keep himself from leaning in and capturing her lips again.  
  
Everything between them seems so clear in this moment. The want, the desires burn bright. They could’ve had something magical between them. And that kiss was nothing but a cruel tease. It makes him want impossible things, both in body and mind. He wants to press her into the nearest wall and forget about everything, all of his responsibilities. He wants to hold her face in both of his hands and kiss her for hours. He wants all of it. Everything she has to offer.   
  
When the rational part of his brain demands that he flee right now, the rest of him stays put, body cemented in place.  
  
She breaks his resolve. He wants to be weak. To give in just this once. To be selfish.   
  
He wants to take her hand and run. _Didn't they deserve it?_ After all of the hell they've been through. Didn't they deserve a breath of fresh air- some sort of slack from the universe?  
  
It’s like he’s always been waiting for the okay. The signal that it was time. The universe calling out to him:  _sure, Phil. You two have experienced enough heartache. Now go be free_.   
  
They were supposed to do so many things. They were supposed to experience each other.

He wants to know what it's like to wake up in a pile of warm blankets with his arms wrapped around her. Bodies pressed together. He wants to share everything. To weave his fingers through hers as they sit with the rest of the team, beers in hand, thighs pressed together, feeling each other’s warmth.

To run to her after being separated after a tough mission, bodies colliding. They would think nothing of the dirt or sweat on them because it wouldn’t matter as long as they were together. He’s lost count of the number of times he’s wanted to do that very thing, but instead he’d held his hands at his sides and settled for a quick: you okay?   
  
He wants to see her fierce protectiveness coming out when it comes to everyone on the team and not being forced to hide his admiration. He’d be able to verbalize how lucky he is to have her.   
  
He longs to make stupid, corny jokes just to see her fight to keep the smile from forming on her face.   
  
He wishes they could just be _together._    
  
But now, all the universe says to him is:  _Too little, too late, Phil. You had every possible chance to tell her, but you never did. You took it all for granted. Now you're chance has passed. You missed it. You’re thirty years too late.  
_  
That's the tragedy of being them. Being friends isn't enough. Being partners isn't enough. Being whatever they are right now isn't enough.   
  
Their one and only kiss will never be enough. None of it will _ever be enough._  
  
Which is why, he allows himself another brief moment of closeness between them-  one that he's denied for years. His arms wrap around her waist, pulling her into him once again. He holds her like he's always wanted to. They both envelop each other in a hug. His hands sneak under the back of her jacket in an attempt to get closer. The heat from her back penetrates the cotton fabric of her t-shirt and warms his palms as he touches her. At the same time, he’s able to feel how taut her muscles are in her shoulder area. He applies some pressure with his fingertips, hoping to relieve some of her tension.  
  
She matches his enthusiasm. Her arms envelope his body as she clings to him just as he is to her.   
  
This is where he's supposed to be. It feels like _home._  
  
The bliss of the moment is broken soon after as a distant scream echoes through the hallway. It brings him back to the present, back to reality. The one where he's dying and can't keep holding onto her. The one where he knows this would never work out. She would never let him go in there alone now that she has him here. Now that they're joined together like this after sharing a kiss and pouring their hearts out.   
  
That's why she can't know what he's going to do.   
  
He squeezes his eyes shut and presses a kiss to the side of her neck, feels the shiver run up her skin in response. He buries his face in her soft hair, the warmth there. This will carry him through.  
  
As long as he keeps in mind that he’s fighting for her to live he'll do whatever it takes to keep the horrors from escaping that storage room. He won't let them get to her. Nothing will have a chance to even come near her.   
  
As they begin pulling away from each other he spots tears still shinning in her sad eyes.

 “I want you to know something,” he whispers.

His hands drop from under her jacket and discretely move towards the icer tucked into his waistband. His fingers grasp the metal handle. The gun seems to be heavier this time around, but he knows it’s just his reluctance to do this. He’s betraying her trust again. She'll wake up alone realizing what he's done. Maybe she'll hate him, maybe she won’t. Either way he won't be coming back to find out.  
  
The icer rests between them, pointed at her stomach, as she continues staring into his eyes, unaware of his movements.   
  
“What is it?”

She asks with such openness that it threatens to strike him down.  
  
For the first time in- he can't even remember how long- she doesn't realize what's about to happen. She doesn’t anticipate what's to come. And he knows it’s only because she has her guard down. She has complete trust in him. Trusting him to never hurt her or crush her. He hates himself for it.   
  
They’ve run out of time.   
  
So he takes one more breath and allows himself three seconds.   
  
Three seconds to get lost in her eyes. Three seconds that he wants to spill his heart out but can't quite bring himself to form any words. Instead, all he can do is stare into her eyes, silently conveying it all. All that he feels and he can only hope that she’ll be able to understand his motives with time.   
  
Three seconds.  _You're my partner. My best friend, May_.   
  
Two seconds. “You mean everything to me.” he tells her softly.

One second.  _I love you._    
  
He doesn’t give her a chance to respond. He wouldn’t make it if she said anything back. Just the thought of hearing her say any words from the heart threatens to break him. Instead, he squeezes his eyes shut, unable to look at her, as he pulls the trigger on the icer.  
  
A small yelp of surprise leaves her mouth before the drug overtakes her, dragging her into unconsciousness. He feels the slight shake of her body in response to the substance and knows that it’s done the job. She goes limp against him, her weight crashing against his chest. He catches her and wraps his arms around her, holding her up.  
  
It'll keep her knocked out long enough for him to get into the room and find a way to barricade the doors shut. So that he can lock everyone out indefinitely, for their own good.  
  
He has to keep her away from the room. They need significant distance. He picks her up and moves her into the elevator. He can send her away, far away where she'll be safe from harm.  
  
The best he can do is set her down against the wall. The metal material is anything but comfortable, but at least she won't be sitting out in the open, vulnerable.  
  
He crouches down in front of her, drawn to her closed eyes. All of the pain is gone from her face. Her expression is clear as she rests in deep sleep. The magnetism between them compels him to lift his left hand and touch her face one last time. Half of it is covered by locks of hair that have fallen in the way during their relocation. He brushes it behind her ear and brings his palm to her jaw, just holding her. It feels so natural, as if he's done it every day for the last ten years.  
  
He now has a clear view of the bruises that still linger underneath her skin. They line the side of her face where she was brutally hit during one of her fights in the future. When he first saw the marks and asked her about them she brushed off his concern. Fitz was the one that came to him and relayed the story of what happened in the pit.  
  
It was just another tick against him. She would've never been in that situation if he hadn't left her all alone to face the kree with a severely wounded leg.   
  
Looking at her now he is reassured that she'll be able to move on without him. The loss may hurt for a while, but her strength will keep her afloat. She's the strongest person he's ever met.   
  
He nods to himself deciding that now is as best a time as ever to leave.   
  
He gives one last goodbye.   
  
"Melinda....I love you and....I'm so sorry for all of this. I hope one day you can forgive me." He says this knowing that he won't be alive to experience that forgiveness.   
  
His body moves away gradually, savoring the physical feeling of her, knowing that he's losing her with each second. His fingertips run across her jaw, neck, shoulder, bicep, forearm, and then her wrist. That's when his hand cradles hers- the last part of her. He keeps the connection until only their fingertips brush and then her hand falls limply at her side.

Tearing his gaze away from her, he turns around before he has a chance to stop himself and quickly clicks the 20 on the elevator, before stepping out. His breath stutters in his chest as he hears the doors close and the whine of the elevator coming to life once again. It’s done. She’s gone.

The distance already seems to be shattering his heart as he takes his final walk down the hall. Numbness spreads in his legs and arms but he pushes through. He has to. There's no other choice. There is no room for emotions now only logic.

He’s prepared to do whatever needs to be done to keep everyone else in this bunker safe.

He'll be the shield. 

 

_//end chapter 1//_


	2. A Magical Place

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> wow...finally I'm posting this. This chapter may seem a bit random and off but that's how it is supposed to be. Stick with it till the end and you'll see.....

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It feels good to write again. I was experiencing some serious writer's block. I haven't disappeared though. I have some things in development.

_SOMETIME LATER_

* * *

  
His head unbearably aches with a pounding migraine. He swears he can feel his brain pulsing.   
  
It's his own fault. He should've listened to Melinda earlier, but decided against it in the moment. The forgone glasses are still tucked into the front of his suit pocket. He feels them there mocking him. Really, he does regret leaving them there while attempting to read the speech he'd prepared. Now the consequences of his decision have caught up to him.   
  
"I told you to wear the glasses."   
  
He hadn't even said anything aloud but she knows exactly what he's thinking. She always instinctively knows most things about him. They've become even more in tune over these last few blissful months together. It seems like that would be an impossible thing, they'd already been closer than most partners, certainly closer than most friends. After taking that leap the closeness blossomed into an all-consuming bond. Daisy likes to joke that they're only one step away from being able to actually read each other's minds.   
  
He turns to Melinda who's standing stoically by his side. The peach dress around her frame shows off her curves in all the right ways. And maybe his eyes automatically wander to the teasing dip of the V-shape over her chest. If she notices, most likely she does, she chooses not to acknowledge it. Instead, she continues admiring the view of the open ocean before them.   
  
"I have glasses on," he says, referring to the sunglasses that rest in the tip of his nose, shielding his eyes from the powerful reflection of the sun's rays.  
  
"Not what I meant,” she murmurs. He can't see past her darkly shaded sunglasses but he'd be willing to bet that there was an eye roll in response to what he said.   
  
He knows what she meant. He was just being a smart ass.  
  
He squinted too much while looking at his speech notes earlier. She'd even patted his chest and whispered, "glasses" before pecking his lips as he stood up to signal for everyone's attention by clinging the end of his metal knife against his champagne flute.  
  
He'd practiced the speech for weeks in advance, wanting to get it down perfectly. Melinda sat in front of him listening intently, eyes sparkling, nodding along. And maybe they got a little interrupted at some parts when the words reminded them of all of the heartache that they've been through, which caused Melinda to stand up and run her hands soothingly over his chest. Peppering him with kisses. Maybe he guided her backwards onto the couch and maybe they stopped thinking of speeches and weddings and just focused on each other for a little while.   
  
He's taken back to that moment, remembering it so clearly because he loved seeing Melinda let loose.   
  
The sounds that she made as he thrusted on top of her. Her body arching up against his. Her eyes closed, mouth opening in pure bliss as they set out to completely satisfy each other. He'd bent his head down and kissed between her breasts as her chest heaved. He could feel the pounding of her heart against his lips.   
  
The reminder sends signals of pleasure up and down his body. Some parts of him react a little too much.   
  
He coughs and tugs at the knot from his tie against his throat, loosening it a bit. Suddenly needing more air and thankful that no one else is in their immediate vicinity as he gets a hold of himself.   
  
He focuses on the rhythmic rise and fall of the waves against the shore. The way the water builds up into a crest, seems to freeze midair for a millisecond, then crashes down. Spreading further and further up the beach and reaching previously untouched piles of dry sand.   
  
Within the clear blue he can occasionally see pieces of seaweed being carried along by the current. The smell of the sea salt drifts through the air.  
  
It’s nearing dusk now, but he can still feel the sun's power pleasantly heating his skin. It’s all completely breathtaking. The perfect weather, the company- being surrounded by all of the people he loves. It seems almost magical.   
_  
It's a magical place._    
  
His blood seems to freeze within his body at the thought. _A magical place._ Those cursed words. He shouldn't have even thought of that. Tahiti was no magical place, only a well concealed nightmare and this is definitely not that.   
  
"Can I have a taste of that?" He asks, gesturing to the drink in her hand, in desperate need of a distraction.   
  
She wordlessly hands it off to him. Then pauses, taking a longer look at him as her brow furrows. "You okay?"   
  
Anytime he thought of Tahiti it made him uncomfortable. It was a violation. "Yea," he answers and immediately winces, knowing that his tone has betrayed him. It's obvious that he's anything but okay.   
  
She doesn't push him. Instead she waits silently until he's ready to share.   
  
He swirls the melting ice cubes around the glass. Taking a small sip, the strong whiskey runs down his throat and warms his veins. He hopes it will ease the pain in his head.   
  
More aches and pains. He feels like that's all there is. Exhaustion seems to capture him all of the time. His body feels as though it’s been breaking down and finally giving up after the years of wear and tear. The low energy makes him unable to keep up with Daisy and the others. Whenever they offer a night of drinks he finds himself declining as he'd much rather get into bed with Melinda curled around him. His doctor put him on a heart medicine, which did nothing to ease his anxieties. He’s spent less time in the field and on the front lines. There’s a distance that leaves a sinking feeling in his chest, like they’re all slowly drifting away from him. the glasses just serve as another reminder of his life ticking by.  
  
"The glasses make me feel old," he sighs, releasing some of the frustrations from within. Glasses were for dad's who couldn't read the morning paper without squinting and holding the paper two inches from their eyes. He couldn't help but feel like each time he placed them on his face every wrinkle deepened significantly and his hairline receded even further while simultaneously losing all of its pigment.   
  
"You are old. We're both...old,” she reminds him, snarling a bit at the harsh reality of it all.   
  
He shakes his head adamantly. That statement is incredibly false. "No. No. Because if you're considered old.....that would make me.....ancient." It still amazes him to this day how she has no significantly visible wrinkles anywhere on her face. She could be a model on the front page of a magazine. Her defined features would shine on any cover. Critics would say she couldn't be a day over thirty and he would wholeheartedly agree. 

  
It isn’t just her looks that make her stunning. It’s in the way she springs into action. How she can still strike down a bulky man four times her size within seconds. And he knows she surely could kick each and every person's ass at this reception right now.   
  
"Yea well we've both got upwards of 20 years on all of these kids here." She takes her drink back and sips it while surveying the crowd.   
  
He follows her gaze and sees over fifty of Fitzsimmons' friends and family members gathered in one big mob. Somehow they all mash together. Laughing. Talking animatedly. Getting along perfectly. Handfuls of men stand around knocking back drink after drink like a bunch of frat boys. Various couples dance in the middle of the group. The music is some type of high paced electronic pop. He can't quite grasp how someone could dance along to something like that, but somehow they're doing it.   
  
The energy that they have makes him envious. Oh how he wishes he could take a little bit from each of them. Then he wouldn't feel like such an old man with aches and pains all over. He's ashamed that they’ve been nursing the same drink- and Melinda’s first one at that- for over an hour now. All he wants to do is strip his suit off and soak in the inviting warmth of the ocean. It seems to beckon him each time he watches the waves roll into the shore.   
  
"Simmons," Melinda suddenly says, nodding to the left of the big group of people.   
  
He looks in that direction and spots Simmons peaking around the heads of the people that she's talking to. A wide smile breaks out on her face as she waves excitedly at the two of them.   
  
They both wave back, matching her expression. He can't help but smile, she looks so happy. Her dress is simple, yet perfect. It’s strapless, mostly lacy at the top and middle, then it fans out to the floor. He couldn't imagine a better fit.   
  
He stands there, simply taking it all in. This place, the perfect paradise. The weather, a comfortable 60° with a slight breeze. Their whole team here, together, taking a break and simply enjoying life.   
  
"The ceremony was beautiful," he comments.   
  
It really was. It was short and sweet. Genuine is the word that comes to mind to describe it best.   
  
"Yes and so was your speech," Melinda says.   
  
He shrugs, not thinking much of it. Before all of the partying started he stood up, gathered everyone's attention, and began a toast. He'd prepared ahead of time, of course, by writing down several paragraphs about how the love Fitzsimmons shared only came once in a lifetime. How they were lucky to find each other and maybe it wasn't luck at all. It was fate. They were always meant to find each other no matter how much distance or how many obstacles came between them.   
  
About a fourth of the way through his detailed speech, he stopped reading from the paper crumpled in his hand and simply spoke from the heart.   
  
"No really, Phil. I caught Fitz tearing up."  
  
Her statement isn't surprising. He himself had to pause and cough a few times to keep the emotions from overwhelming him. As he spoke in front of the crowd, he thought back to their first days as a team. How Fitzsimmons acted. The bickering and naivety, which naturally flowed into maturity and led to a passionate love for each other.   
  
It reminded him of his own love story. Each time he looked into the crowd he found Melinda focused on him, eyes sparkling with unshed tears. He would never call her out on it. It's just another thing he loves about her. Her heart and the way she loved each person on their team.   
  
They lapse into a comfortable silence. She moves closer to him and leans her head against his chest. His arm automatically wraps around her waist, pulling her gently into him. Warmth spreads throughout his body in response to her touch. The spark is still there after all this time. Each time they touch it feels like the beginning, like the start of something special. The sensation overwhelms him sometimes and he can't help but think that he's the luckiest man in the world. There's nowhere else he'd rather be.   
  
A commotion disrupts their calm embrace. Sudden cheers and hollering cause them both to jump, startled by the abrupt loud noise. He realizes that they had almost lapsed into a sort of unconscious state while standing up and observing everyone else partying. Damn they're old.   
  
Familiar sounds of laughter and singing hit his ears. He spots Daisy twirling around in place with a group of people, clearly a bit buzzed by the alcohol. A smile creeps up on his lips seeing her this way. Being able to let go for once and just have fun. Then, Daisy reaches out and joins hands with a man, one that isn't random at all. Phil has recently become quite familiar with this guy.  
  
_It's Deke._    
  
He watches them with laser focus as they stand a little too close to each other. Too close for his comfort.   
  
Phil's eyes darken as Deke spins around with Daisy trying and failing to keep rhythm with the music. Phil knows Deke's game. The one where he claims innocence to how every little thing on Earth works.  _Oh Daisy show me this. What's this, Daisy?_  He's watched as they've grown closer. He sees it now as Deke occasionally reaches out and brushes his hand on her shoulder or neck, a little too close for comfort.   
  
They giggle together, sporting carefree smiles, and continuously take gulps of their drinks. One word comes to mind to describe what he's seeing: _flirting_.  
  
His eyes almost bulge out of his head at this development.   
  
"Tell me I'm not the only one seeing that," he grumbles. His mood is now indefinitely spoiled.  
  
"What?" She mumbles, sounding barely conscious with her cheek pressed against his chest, obviously not paying attention to the disturbing sight in front of them.   
  
"Deke and Daisy," he growls.   
  
She sighs. "Phil."   
  
He knows that tone. It's the stop being an idiot tone.   
  
"They're just friends," she says, dismissing his worry.   
  
"No." He shakes his head. He knows what he saw there. The connection. The tension fizzing in the air. The sparkling in the eye that shows up when you enjoy your friend a little too much.   
  
It's all too real. He knows what it's like. He felt and experienced it all for decades. "Like we were just friends?" He challenges.  
  
"There's nothing there. Trust me," she says confidently. He wants to believe her. He knows that even though there's more distance between them than in previous years, she and Daisy still talk about personal things. Sometimes he walks into a room and they'll both be there, sharing cups of hot tea, softly murmuring to each other.   
  
So now that she tells him that there's nothing significant between Deke and Daisy he should accept what she says. And usually he would. He does trust her. With everything else he implicitly trusts her. But this, he refuses to believe. She's wrong and it bothers him that she can't see it.   
  
He continues to stare at Daisy and Deke almost in a trance. For some reason he can't stop focusing on the two of them. Like there is something important he's missing. The sharp pain of the migraine hits him again, calling for his attention. He sucks in a breath and winces when his brain feels like it's throbbing against his skull.   
  
Daisy's face blurs as if an imaginary eraser smears her image in his head. He blinks and thinks about how badly he needs an aspirin.   
  
"Stop worrying," Melinda tells him as she rests her drink on the metal table next to them.   
  
She grasps his shoulders and squeezes, bringing his attention to her. "I was thinking...." She trails off as a mischievous smile lights up her face. One that clearly tells him that she's up to something. Something that could get them into serious trouble, which is trademark Melinda May behavior.   
  
"Yea?" He inquires, raising an eyebrow and smiling stupidly back at her.   
  
She reaches out and grasps his tie, running her fingers up and down the length. "Maybe we could find a deserted part of the island. And maybe we could do some  _swimming_." The smirk comes out in full force. When she says swimming his brain decodes it as something much more indiscrete. Something that requires no clothes.   
  
He grins, which quickly turns into a wince. This time the pain in his head is like an icepick stabbing through his brain, slicing it into pieces. He can't ignore it any longer. He's never felt a migraine this powerful before. It threatens to bring him to his knees. He thinks he better sit down before he passes out.  
  
Something between a cry and a yell leaves his lips as he recoils from Melinda's grip on his tie, no longer in a playful mood. This has quickly morphed into something else.   
  
Now the pain seeps into his chest and it burns.   
  
_Where is this coming from?_    
  
Maybe the drink was getting the better of him. Maybe she yanked the tie a little too tightly. Either way he needs to pull it off now- immediately. It's choking him. It feels like a snake has coiled around his neck, curling tighter and tighter, while also sinking it's fangs into the space above his heart.   
  
He hisses in response to the pain of the movement as he frantically unties the knot.   
  
"Honey," Melinda calls out worriedly. "Phil. What is it?"  
  
The tie is ripped off and tossed into the sand at their feet. Yet, there's still no relief. He grinds his teeth together to keep from calling out and making a scene. Yea, just what Fitz and Simmons need on what's supposed to be the happiest day of their lives: the old guy having a heart attack.   
  
_I need a hospital_ , he thinks. _Shit._ His head snaps up intending to get Melinda's attention, to communicate to her that she needs to get him out of here now. But when he looks around she's nowhere to be seen. The spot where she had just been standing is now nothing but sand. There's not even an imprint of her ever being there, no tracks or depressions in the sand. She's just gone, disappeared in an instant from his life.   
  
Melinda is not here. _Melinda is not here_. His brain tells him over and over again but he just can't seem to accept it. She was just there talking and touching him. Right in front of him.   
  
She was never there.   
  
The jarring thought flashes in his head. A billboard with the words: _she is not here_. She is not here with you. In his mind, bright lights blink rapidly around the billboard calling for his attention.   
  
Something is wrong.   
  
This is wrong. _It's all wrong._    
  
"Wait... something's happening."  
  
"He's..... he's.....waking up!"  
  
He looks up at the sound of the voices rolling around his head, but can't make out who has said them.   
  
A crowd has formed around him, surrounding him in a circle. He's taken aback by the sudden amount of people that have invaded his personal space in such a short amount of time.   
  
At least 15 people are here. That much he knows, but the rest, he just can't properly process it. Somehow he instinctively knows that this is not right. They all wear either black or blue, no other colors and none of them are dressed in formal attire. They're not wedding guests so who the hell are they and what do they want?  
  
He's hit with another wave of pain in his chest. This time it aches deep within and seems to spread white hot heat throughout his veins like he's been lit on fire.   
  
The button down shirt that he wears has to come off or he won't be able to keep breathing. It's suffocating him. Just as he lifts both hands to the collar- intending on ripping it right down the middle, buttons and all- another voice frantically calls out.   
  
"He's moving!"   
  
This voice is much closer than all of the other ones.   
  
_What the hell....  
_  
The crowd begins grabbing at him, gripping his shirt at all angles and pulling him down.  
  
Instinct takes over as his brain orders him to flee. This is a bad situation and he has to get out of here.   
  
_Get out!_  
  
He stumbles, intending to take off running, but can't seem to gain control of his body like he's fighting against a pool of thick, sticky glue.  
  
"Hold his hands. Bind them. Now!"  
  
They have him now. They're going to crush him. They'll burry him in the sand with the force of their grips. And still he can do nothing against them. The glue holds him- keeping him frozen in place.  
  
People keep touching him and he's confused. Melinda isn't here. She's just disappeared and now he fears that he'll never see her again.   
  
"Stop. Don't. Don't. Melinda. Melinda!" He screams, needing her there.   
  
He needs her to save him.   
  
He needs her.   
  
Then, suddenly he's struck by an image of Melinda holding onto him, gripping his jacket with tears running down her face. "Phil...I need you safe," she said.   
  
His eyes pop open. Horrifyingly, he realizes that he's no longer at the beach with his team, celebrating Fitzsimmons' wedding. No, it's quite the opposite. The sand is gone and has been swapped with cold metal. The sun is gone only to be replaced by an artificial blinding lamp overhead.   
  
It's cold, dark, and empty in this place.   
  
His reality comes crashing down after that as he's faced with the bitter truth. The wedding, the conversation he'd just had about being old, and his relationship with Melinda have all been fabricated. None of that actually happened. How could it have happened when the last time he saw her he sent her unconscious form into an elevator and far away from him?   
  
A dream _. It was all a dream._ A cruel tease. But it felt so real.   
  
His eyes blink rapidly as he tries to get his bearings. So far, all he can make out is a few distorted figures draped in blue gowns.   
  
Once it starts to become a little clearer he feels a spike of fear. There's a white sheet covering his body and nothing else. He's been stripped of his clothes and weapons as his body rests on a hard, flat surface.   
  
When he takes a glance around he spots all kinds of medical equipment and wires tangled around him.   
  
Now it makes a little more sense. The people in the blue gowns are doctors.   
  
His right wrist is tied to the side of the bed with some type of black rope. His left arm is wrapped up tightly with a piece of rope around his bicep and another at his elbow. The robotic hand that he's used as his own is gone. Someone must've taken it off, knowing that it could be used as a weapon. Without it he feels naked. It's come to be a bit of a security blanket for him.   
  
The implications are clear. They've strapped him down so he can't move. They don't want him to be able to fight against them.   
  
A bag of blood hangs on a metal pole next to him. Two other bags of clear fluids hang, dripping slowly through a tube. A tube that's hooked up to an IV in his arm. They're pumping him full of drugs and blood. The drugs would explain the lucidity of the dream. It would explain why he is so out of his mind right now. Because it feels like he's stuck in a cloud of thick fog, completely missing everything just a foot in front of him.   
  
_What the hell happened to him?_  
  
That room in the basement of the lighthouse is all he can remember. He went in there to fix the problem. Something went wrong. And….fire. There was fire all around him, consuming him. He racks his brain trying to figure out what else happened, but the blazing white heat is all he can remember. It had burned through his skin. It felt as though he'd melted from the inside out.   
  
The team must've gotten in somehow.

  
Simmons must've pulled him out.   
  
Who the hell are the rest of these people then? They sure as hell aren't volunteers. As far as the general public knows, shield is the number one enemy. The penalty for helping them would probably result in terrorism charges.  
  
_Hey_ , he thinks and orders his brain to send the words to his mouth. There's a disconnect. It comes out as a slur. His tongue is flattened by a hefty tube in his mouth.   
  
He attempts to lift his hand to make some type of commotion as a signal for Simmons or anyone to come over and speak to him like a human being. To get some answers. But he forgets that these doctors have strapped his arms tightly to the bed underneath him, so he ends up barely moving an inch.   
  
"Sirm-," he tries calling out Simmons' name but it only sounds like garbled speech. He can't possibly speak with the tube stuffed down his throat, trapping his tongue under it.   
  
_Click. Click. Click.  
_  
An echo of footsteps hits his ears.   
_  
Click.  
  
Click.   
_  
He's heard something like it before in the Triskelion, surrounded by other agents. Female agents specifically. The rhythmic tapping of their heels against tile.   
  
All he can do is breathe and listen as the clicking grows louder, ultimately signaling someone's approach.   
  
A woman leans over into his field of view. The first thing that comes to mind: she needs to back up. If she bends down even an inch more he swears their noses will brush against each other. It would be too close for comfort for a friend to do this, let alone a stranger.   
  
She wears her hair tightly in a bun, not a strand out of place. Her lipstick is in pristine condition, yet it draws his attention to her mouth where there are clearly defined frown lines. He gets a read on her, picking up on her signal. It's not a positive one. She's a stern, cold woman.   
  
His eyes drop to her shirt. There are various colored badges and pins displayed across her chest. It’s a uniform. She's military. That makes perfect sense.  
  
The name tag reads: Hale. He knows exactly who she is. She's the sorry excuse of a replacement who took over after Daisy's LMD shot Talbot. She's the one that imprisoned Fitz for months. The one that ambushed them and was responsible for this whole mess. Yo-Yo's injury and the bomb in their bunker, which led to him fighting with the team, preparing to sacrifice himself and the painful goodbye with Melinda.   
  
Then, nothing. The rest of his memory is a blank. A void of moments that have been taken from him.   
  
"Mr. Coulson you're a difficult man to get a hold of."  
  
There's a manila folder in her hand. She shuffles through the papers nonchalantly as if they're in the middle of a briefing. Not a hospital where he's being drugged and held against his will.   
  
"Oh don't worry. Everything will be fine." She flashes him an obviously forced smile.   
  
Her statement does little to help ease his fears. That's always the type of thing that the villain says in movies as they lie straight through their teeth.   
  
"Make yourself comfortable. We'll be spending a great deal of time together," she says.   
  
_That would make me feel better if my wrists weren't shackled to the bed right now_ , he thinks.   
  
She turns away without explaining anything further.   
  
_Click. Click. Click._  The tap of her heels fades slightly but stay within earshot.   
  
"You did well, Piper. In and out. Clean... unnoticed."  
  
_Piper?_ She's the one that dragged him out? After everything she's seen how could she still give her loyalty to a monster like Hale?  
  
"Yes ma'am," Piper responds.   
  
"Power it down," Hale says, clearly an order for someone to obey.   
  
He strains his neck to see what's going on. The simple movement makes him feel sick. But for some reason he feels that it's important to see what they're talking about.   
  
Hale stands in front of Piper.  
  
His view is warped but he can pretty much figure out what's going on. Piper's getting a congratulations for nabbing him successfully. Well, she might as well rise in Hale's team because she is now enemy number three in his book, right up there with Hale herself and the blade-wielding assassin.   
  
Piper's head drops forward, lolling against her chest as the rest of her body freezes in place. Like she's gone unconscious with a flick of a switch, yet still able to stand perfectly still.   
  
Hale nods to someone out of his periphery. He hears footsteps, boots stomping on the floor. They come closer and he sees two men, soldiers with automatic weapons in their hands. They each grab a hold of Piper's arms and lift her, moving away. Her body does not react to the men. She stays perfectly still. She doesn't react to anything. She's just...frozen in an unnatural way.   
  
Power it down. Power it down. It. It. Not she. Not her. _It._ He's seen that rigidity before. He's seen it with the LMDs- with Melinda's lmd.   
  
It hits him then. That this Piper is not Piper at all. She's an lmd.   
  
They've been parading around with another imposter without an inkling of suspicion.   
  
The pounding is back in his head. He fights against the pull of sleep. It would be so easy to give in. His body is begging him. His eyelids are already fluttering closed as his eyes threaten to roll into the back of his head.   
  
But there's more murmuring. More conversations that he needs to listen to. He needs to understand what's going on here.   
  
_Focus, Phil.  
_

Focus.    
  
"-an handle it."  
  
"I've told you!"  
  
"How many more chances do you need?" Hale asks.   
  
"Daisy Johnson..... she'll come for him." A new, much higher pitched female voice says.   
  
This is important. They're discussing Daisy.   
  
He has to look. Blinking hard, he clears the haze in his vision and strains to see who Hale is speaking to now.   
  
A shorter and considerably younger woman stands in front of General Hale. Her hair is bleach blonde and damn-near perfectly straight. The uniform that she wears is sleek black and similar to the other guards in the room.   
  
There’s something familiar about her slim figure like he's seen her before, recently even.   
  
But where?  
  
He takes another careful once over of the woman. She holds a black mask in one hand, wears boots with a thick heel. The pointed shoulders of her uniform are unmistakable.   
  
Her lips move rapidly but he can't hear a thing. She's speaking to Hale in hushed tones. They both shoot glares his way and turn slightly, angling their bodies away from him. The new position reveals a shiny object strapped to the young woman's back. He squints, staring at it, realizing that it's a blade. A distinctly circular shaped blade.   
  
All oxygen leaves his lungs in an instant. It feels as though the hulk has sucker punched him in the chest.  
  
This woman, she's the assassin who sliced Yo-Yo's arms off. He should've expected her to show up, but he never imagined she'd be this young. He didn't think to make the connection until this very moment.   
  
Once again, deep down in his subconscious his brain realizes that something is incredibly wrong, but he just can't seem to bring it to the forefront of his mind.    
  
It's too much. His drugged up brain can't process any of this. It feels as though the answers are just in his reach, but he can't process the implications. Everything is a fuzzy mess.   
  
She'll come for him, they had said. They were talking about Daisy.   
  
_Daisy._    
  
Daisy will come for him. It should make him relieved, but it doesn't.   
  
Suddenly it all makes sense. The jumbled thoughts come together like pieces of a puzzle. This setup has nothing to do with shield. None of these people are friendlies. These are the mystery people that the team has been fighting against. And Daisy. The assassin wants Daisy and they're going to use him to get her.   
  
He's bait. Whatever they want her for can't be good. If they were willing to go so far as to cut Yo-Yo's arms off he's afraid to suspect what they want with Daisy.    
  
They'll kill Daisy because of him.   
  
"His heartrate is skyrocketing," a nearby male voice calls out.   
  
"It's the stress," another says.   
  
More people approach him. Two lean over him, but all he is able to make out is their eyes. The piercing quality freezes him in place as he stares back and forth between the two. The uniquely aqua green color of their irises is the exact same color that the ocean was in his dream.   
  
Their eyes are the only remotely human quality about the men as they stand over him covered in medical gowns, masks, goggles, and latex gloves. One has smears of blood down the side of his glove. It can't be anyone's blood, but his.   
  
What are they doing to him? What happened to him in that room? He has no idea. He can't feel a damn thing.   
  
Three more men approach with the same colored eyes. He shrivels away. Wishing he could scream at them. To get the hell away. He tries commanding his legs to kick. Do something. But they don't budge. He can't control his own body.   
  
"Give him this."   
  
A needle filled with a clear liquid is passed to the closest man.   
  
He fights at the sight of it with only adrenaline to fuel him. He tries pulling his arm away, to yank the IV out. But his fingertips won't stop tingling. The commands he's sending to his limbs produce poor results.    
  
Rocking his body from side to side is the only thing he can do. He holds out hope that it will do something to help him out of this situation. Maybe a restraint would come loose.  
  
"Damn it. Get a hold of him!" Hale's stern voice commands.   
  
Hands are on him again, now holding him down on all sides. There's a steady pressure. The powdery latex gloves grip his bare arms tightly. Their cold fingers press him down.   
  
He's powerless to stop them. All he can do is helplessly watch as the now injected liquid slowly moves through the clear tube that leads to his arm. It travels into his vein directly into the bloodstream.   
  
The pounding in his brain starts up again and his vision goes blurry. Things feel fuzzy, like there are pins and needles in his feet and hands with a static screen over his eyes.   
  
Everything tingles and he's just so tired. Sleep is pulling at him. He has to sleep.   
  
The last thought he has is of Daisy. He hopes that she's safe.   
  
His eyes slip closed and his consciousness fades away.   


//tbc//

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm happy to finally be finished with this one. I just couldn't wrap this chapter up. I hope it was angsty for everyone. At first, this story was going one way, but now there's a new direction. It's definitely AU and emotional. I will finish this. Let me know what you guys think! Thanks for coming back to read this chapter! :)


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